


A king without a kingdom, a man without warmth

by Werther (thewildeeconomist)



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 18:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14959826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildeeconomist/pseuds/Werther
Summary: Death was not new to John. He understood death as well as any other creature would.But the cruelty inflicted upon those poor boys the moments before their death?No wolf, vampire, mage or human alone could understand it.Maybe their little group of misfits could.





	A king without a kingdom, a man without warmth

**Author's Note:**

> More tags will appear as the story progresses. No beta, sorry.

It’s not as if John had something better to do with his evening. In fact, dinner with his grandmother and her pack was usually very high on the list of events he did not care for, especially when his grandmother spent the evening trying to set him up with any single pack member available, making him feel more like a show-dog than an esteemed guest. 

For that same reason, Laszlo’s summoning had come at a very favorable time that evening, giving him the excuse he needed to leave the dinner table before his grandmother tried her antics with their host daughter, who had taken the seat next to John. She was a lovely brunette with a quick laugh and small fangs, but John could see her eyes wander around the table and stop every time near a blond, yellow-eyed man sitting in the corner. John found extremely amusing how her brown eyes would leave the man just as his yellow ones would turn to her in an uncoordinated dance that would end in disappointment unless someone intervened.

“Oh, but John is such a capable hunter! He can’t practice as much here in the City, but in the family woods he could find a rabbit hiding in the leaves with only a glance!”

“That’s because we had the dumbest rabbits in the county, maybe even in the state,” said John, making the young woman laugh while his grandmother sent him a look. He was fortunately saved from her scolding by one of the maids, who told John there was a boy at the door with an urgent message for him.

He knew exactly what that meant.

“If you excuse me, ladies, I’ve business to take care of,” he stood with a quick smile, ignoring his grandmother’s complains and making brief eye contact with the blond man, head moving significantly (and a little comically) to signal his open seat. The man turned red, apparently thinking he had been subtle with his looks, but John just smiled and followed the maid to the door with quick steps, hopping the man took the hint.

(He tried to imagine the moment the man stood and sat next to the lovely woman, how both their eyes would go soft and their smiles shy, and he decided he would make a little paint of the moment and show it to his grandmother, to see just how much he got right.)

However, his good mood quickly turned to worry when he caught sight of Stevie, who was waiting for him inside the protection circle of runes craved on the house’s porch. Usually, Laszlo’s ‘urgent’ messages were invitations to dinner or to the Opera disguised as a barely-polite summoning, delivered to John by a smiling Stevie, who enjoined taking his sweet time before giving John the excuse he needed to leave some boring function or grandmother scheme before things got to a breaking point.

(In fact, Laszlo’s ability to know exactly when to send one of his urgent messages was so accurate that John had once asked the Doctor in jest over diner if he could start calling him ‘Pythia’, only to receive a mocking card the next time he was trapped at a dinner with his grandmother, wishing him a pleasant evening in Greek.)

This time, he knew he wasn’t being summoned for a late dinner, because he could see how frightened Stevie looked, and while John knew many humans would object to go near a pack house so close to the full moon, he also knew Stevie didn’t harbor any prejudiced believes towards wolves, so his fright came from something other than the twenty dinning inside.

“Quick, Mr. Moore,” said Stevie as soon as John took his coat and crossed the door. Unfortunately for John, the fright hadn’t dulled Stevie’s speed, so he found himself running behind the boy towards the calash, where Frederick was nervously tapping its hooves, clearly uncomfortable about being so close to the house. John climbed inside and took a moment to gather his thoughts and breath, and another to stomp his hand on the ceiling, demanding an explanation as they started to move.

“For God’s sake Stevie, what’s this about?” he loudly asked, heart beating fast and neck going cold, because he had forgotten his scarf, “I was having a pleasant evening, the least you could do is tell me what this is about.”

“The Doctor asks for you. Says he needs you,” yelled Stevie, flogging poor old Frederick amid the mostly empty streets.

The night was a clear but cold one; the wind biting with the promise of more snow, winter still with them after the New Year, but even with an inadequate coat inside a windy calash, John felt warmth in his chest and a pleasant shiver travel down his back at the mere idea of Laszlo Kreizler needing him.

“That really doesn’t tell me anything” he answered back, but Stevie wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. They continued to travel the mostly empty streets of the City, and John resigned himself to wait for an explanation from the man himself. 

*-*-*-

He didn’t get an explanation, he drew it. Too soon, they took a turn that told John they weren’t bond to Laszlo’s house, and the short answer he got when he asked again where they were going was ‘to the bridge’, which only served to puzzle him more. He didn’t know what business Laszlo could have in a half-constructed bridge, but as they got closer and closer, and the policemen suddenly started to appear around them, his puzzlement turned to real worry about the kind of ‘help’ Laszlo needed.

“They are waiting for you up there,” Stevie told him while he was getting down from the calash, the wind much more colder so near the water, making John regret forgetting his scarf again. John turned his head up to where the boy was pointing. Even in the dark, he could perfectly see a faint light shining over a makeshift tent on a wooden beam up there. 

Really, up, up there.

He was about to refuse to go up, arguing that he was a wolf, not a bird, when a familiar voice with a strong New York accent interrupted him. He was starting to get an idea of why Laszlo needed him, and it was growing in certainty as the tall, red-haired figure of his college friend came closer and closer to them.

“John Schuyler Moore! What’s your lupine ass doing here?” It was difficult to know if Roosevelt was displeased with his presence in what John now suspected was a crime scene, or if he was just yelling to be heard over the howling of the wind. 

(John knew from experience that it was difficult to know Roosevelt’s mood by his tone of voice, even to creatures with better ears than John, because the man tended to be loud when happy, sad, pleased or displeased. 

‘Humans’ would mutter a common vampire friend of them at Harvard, not so subtly sending a look to Roosevelt and his group when they got too loud over some sport related activity, ‘worst ear of all the creatures, but loudest voices, I swear.’

Other creatures would agree, but John would just laugh and join the boisterous group with a smile, not bothered by the noise at all.)

“I was sent for,” he answered after shaking hands with Teddy, both turning their heads up to see the faint light fighting to keep on glowing on a quickly turning weather, “A common friend of ours thinks I could be of help.”

“Well Moore, unless your famous ‘sight’ now includes the mysteries of the past and the future, I believe there’s nothing you could do up there.” John knew Roosevelt well enough not to take his dismissive tone as an insult, especially because the man was probably right: John knew Laszlo had not sent for him to solve whatever had happened up there, that would be extremely foolish, something the good Doctor took pride in not being.

Laszlo just needed to see it. And John would try his hardest to make it happen.

“I won’t be in your way,” he promised, adjusting his coat the best he could to cover his cold neck, moving his hands to stop them from cramping, “I just need to see it.”

That seemed to tickle Roosevelt the wrong way, because the man turned his head to look directly at John, a deep frown marring his usually cordial features. John had been on the receiving end of many frowns from the man, some of them almost paternal, but now Teddy’s eyes showed a deeper concern marred with an indecision that was not usual for such an assured man.

“Why isn’t he here to see it himself?” the question was shot to the air, and John was sure Stevie heard it, but he also knew the boy didn’t know what went inside Laszlo’s astute brain, that being a bigger mystery than what was first, the mages or the humans, so John was about to answer with some convoluted reason when the boy interrupted him.

“You know why,” Stevie’s voice still betrayed a level of fright that still worried John. He hadn’t moved from the coachman’s seat of the calash, and John was sure the boy wouldn’t go near that beam even for all the alchemist gold in the world.

“Yes, I do. What I want to know is how he knew not to come.” Both men looked at Stevie, waiting for an answer, but when he refused to give one, Roosevelt’s eyes showed that he had made a decision, and with a tired sigh, he pushed John towards the first rickety stairs of the construction.

“Well, let’s go then.” Now that he could go up, however, John started to really, really worry about what was waiting for them. Teddy had a quick word with the first police officer they encountered inside the construction site, and the man shot John a look a curious look as he gave him his drawing kit, but Roosevelt kept moving forward, showing John this wasn’t the first time the Commissioner had gone up.

They climbed multiple stairs, each one looking even feebler than the last, the officers around letting them pass without a comment once they caught sight of Roosevelt. The bridge was an extraordinary structure, and any other day John would have taken his time to admire the almost mathematical precision of the columns and cables, but as they got closer and closer to their destiny, John could feel the tension around them grow, fewer and fewer officers standing in groups near the small lamps, their voices growing quieter and quieter until there was just the sound of silence around them.

Finally, after many more vertical feet than John cared to count, they reached the beam and the makeshift tent, a solitary officer waiting for them under a more sturdy part of the structure to keep himself protected from the cold wind, a cigarette forgotten on his lips. He just nodded at them, looking at the sea below, silently refusing to go into the tent again. Roosevelt left John alone for a moment, and went to have a quick word with the man, who just nodded again and turned around to go down.

“John…” he could barely hear Teddy’s voice; both of them just watching the wind blow the cloth in a tantalizing dance. John felt hot from all the climbing they had done, and his heart was beating fast over the drawing kit he had clutched with his left arm. He knew he didn’t want to see what was inside, the reactions around him making him anxious of just how terrible it was, but Laszlo needed it (needed him), so he shook his shoulders and took a deep breath, right hand going up to open the tent’s shabby entrance.

“It’s fine Teddy.”


End file.
